


contagio

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, M/M, PWP, Sounding, Tainted AU, Tentacles, extraordinary and unusual uses of water magic, lenny face - Freeform, lots of tentacles, water tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 18:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10599450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: “I bet I can make you come undone without touching you.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry mom not rly

“I bet I can make you come undone without touching you.”

Sorey cocks his head, regarding Mikleo with a raised brow and an expression of clear scepticism. “What, you really think that?”

Mikleo’s bright eyes darken with a dangerous glint and his lips curl up minisculely. “You don’t?”

Sorey narrows his eyes, and yet yields. “Do your worst,” he taunts, making Mikleo’s face brighten up into a wide smile.

The seraph leans down and presses his lips against the still-sitting Sorey’s, teeth bracketing his bottom lip and tugging, gnawing on it playfully until it’s puffy and red, giving Sorey that pouty look that Mikleo loves so much.

He raises his hands up, showing his pale palms for Sorey to see. What Sorey fails to notice however, keeping all his attention on Mikleo and his movements, is the trails of water snaking into the throne room from beneath the large entrance door. They take a detour over the cracks of the wooden floor and besides the fluffy, if neglected and old, carpet, so that they’re not as noticeable.

Sorey only — finally — notices them as they wind around his ankle and snake up the throne, taking ahold of his wrists. His first instinct is to break free, but his eyes are still trained on Mikleo, and he has that shit-eating grin on his face, and Sorey doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing how off-guard he’d been caught.

If it were anybody else, Sorey would already be free and with his sword at their throat, but this is his Mikleo, so he allows the tendrils of water to tug him up, off the throne, off the ground.

They don’t feel like normal water; they’re more gelatinous, more solid, as they glide over his skin, slipping beneath his pants and his sleeves to wind around his limbs to hold him in the air more securely. He twists around, trying to find where they’re coming from, but he can’t find a specific spot where one ends and another begins. They all seem to be connected.

And they’re deft, he finds as they manage to wiggle his red shirt off of him with minimal record, somehow not letting him go. Instead they dissipate to allow the fabric to pass through them, and then one of the tendrils carries it over to Mikleo, who takes it in one hand, dropping the other from where it’d still been held up.

The glint in his eyes is positively dark. He shucks the shirt onto himself, heedless of the few wet stains left on it here and there, and then plops himself straight onto the throne, folding his legs and leaning onto one elbow as he looks up at Sorey.

“Told you,” he singsongs.

Sorey feels a rush of heat at the sight of him lie that, dwarfed by the large, gold-plated seat, swimming in his own shirt, and looking like he’d just cheated life. “I’m still very much done,” he manages to say, and it only serves to make Mikleo’s expression darker and the tendrils a little tighter around him.

“Oh, don’t worry, Reyrey,” Mikleo coos, “You’ll be more than done when I’m through with you.”

He doesn’t give Sorey much time or chances to reply, instead commanding the water to branch out, tendrils winding around Sorey’s forearms and tugging them behind his back, effectively rendering them useless. More tendrils seem to split from the already existing ones, branching out and running over hot skin, cooling it with their surfaces.

Sorey chalks it up to magic when water of all things manages to tear his undershirt off, leaving his chest bare. He shivers as the air tickles the wet trails left by the tendrils.

Mikleo must notice this, because not even a moment later, there’s a tendril running down his side, teasingly light over his ribs. Sorey jerks within the tendrils’ hold, a laugh bubbling up from deep within his chest. It sounds much louder in the giant, mostly-empty throne room than it actually is. Thankfully, there’s no one to hear them, so neither of them worries about keeping quiet.

It’s just a laugh now, but when the tendril presses against the skin just a little firmer, curling inwards and running over Sorey’s nipple, the laugh dies out in favor of a soft exhale, the fallen shephard’s eyelids fluttering closed as Mikleo starts to tease at his chest.

Mikleo has to take a moment to rearrange himself on the throne, uncrossing and recrossing his legs.

Then he gives all his attention back to Sorey and his eagerness as he tries to arch his chest into the touch of the watery tendrils twisting and tugging at his nipples and running over his scar-ridden skin. Tiny rivulets of water cascade down his shivering stomach and soak into the fabric of his pants.

Mikleo takes mercy on him, slipping a pair of tendrils up from his ankles to his hips, curling around to hold his weight while another pair worms into his pants, yanking them down and off of his legs. They end up in a useless puddle on the ground, though Mikleo takes care not to leave them where they’ll end up completely soaked by the water.

Sorey is already half hard when he's exposed, and Mikleo forces down a laugh, moving a tendril to trace the flesh, watching enraptured as it stirs along with the touch and glide of the tendril. Sorey grits his teeth as Mikleo orders the water to curl around the flesh, a soothingly cool balm on the heating skin.

The tendril starts moving up and down along the length, water dripping down Sorey's thighs in no time at all. The boy writhes in his restraints, prompting Mikleo to tighten them to make sure he wouldn’t slip free by some miracle that always follows in Sorey’s footsteps.

“Hn, Mikleo,” Sorey breathes out with the last of the air in his lungs, chest stuttering as he gasps for more.

“Weren’t expecting me to be serious, huh?” Mikleo teases, catching Sorey’s hazed eyes with his narrowed ones, his smirk curling his whole face. With another, way too smooth and elegant flick of his wrist, the tendril curled around Sorey’s dick squeezes. Almost like a snake, the tighter part moves along the length, around the base one second, around the weeping crown the other.

Sorey keens.

“Mik—”

“Hush, I didn’t even start yet,” the seraph chastices. Not that he really wants Sorey to be quiet; no, he loves all the little whines and whimpers and gasps and moans of his name. And Sorey knows this, so even though he stops trying to string together a sentence, there’s still tiny breathless sounds pouring out.

The malevolence rolling off the ex-shepard thickens unnaturally with his emotions, making the air itself seem heavier. It bears down on Mikleo’s chest, but unlike before, where it would choke him, like someone stomping on his chest, now it feels warm and familiar, almost like a second heartbeat.

There’s so much of it, more than Mikleo would ever imagine possible in a single person. And yet, Sorey is still there, still looking like himself (save for the sharpened teeth, but looking in a mirror in the early morning and running his fingers over the plethora of crescent shaped marks always left behind, Mikleo can’t say he minds those that much) and still very much acting like himself (save for seeming so much more relaxed, no longer shouldering all the worry of people around himself; again, Mikleo has to say he likes that).

He has the master of darkness, the boy who can command countless Hellions with just a finger, at his mercy.

But looking past all of that, it’s still them, just as it had always been, and not even this had manage to separate them — no matter how much Sorey tried to get him to not follow him. How could he have thought Mikleo would let him go alone? He’d always been right behind him, almost like a shadow. Wherever Sorey would go, Mikleo would be just a step behind. Whatever Sorey wants, Mikleo would want as well.

And right now it sounds like Sorey wants more, so who is Mikleo to deny him?

He leans his head onto one thin wrist as he regards Sorey, contemplating what to do with him. Catching the pleading look in Sorey’s eyes, Mikleo comes to a decision. He uses the tendrils wrapped around Sorey’s thighs to pull them up and apart, jostling the boy into a half-lying position in midair, his lower half on full display.

Mikleo licks his lips at the sight of the glimmering precum oozing from the red, swollen tip of Sorey’s cock, dribbling down and getting eaten up by one of the tendrils as it runs over the flesh. Even lower still, down the crease of his ass, Mikleo’s eyes train onto his entrance.

“Hmm,” he hums softly, one tendril unwinding from Sorey’s ankle to hover right in front of the twitching pucker, in the perfect position for the brunet to see it bobbing up and down slightly. “Tell me what you want?”

Sorey’s eyebrows visibly draw together and he glares at Mikleo, though the effect is lost when his hips buck up into the tendril around his cock that decides to move again. “You know what I want!” he huffs, trying to twist out of the hold on his arms, but without success.

Mikleo chuckles lightly, “Do I? What if I got it wrong?”

“Gods, Mik—!” Sorey groans, “Please, just fuck me!”

Mikleo’s chuckles get louder and he relents the teasing. For now. Instead, the tendril stretches out, becoming thinner as it runs over the crease of Sorey’s ass, adding to the wet mess already dripping down there.

Sorey wiggles, trying to push back against it, though he can’t really move. Mikleo motions it to push inside, and it does, so thin that there’s barely any stretch, just Sorey breathing out as it rubs against his insides. It’s no thicker than a single finger, but it keeps pushing in, further than any of Mikleo’s fingers or cock ever could, and Sorey keens loudly, back arching splendidly. His head is thrown back and he clenches down on the tendril, nails digging into his own palms.

When it feels like the tendril is already breaching into his stomach and he’s completely out of breath, it pulls out, painfully slowly. It doesn’t pull out completely, but he still feels empty.

Sorey’s eyes go wide when it pushes back inside, just as slowly and just as deeply, but it’s a little wider this time, stretching his muscles a bit more, wracking his body with ceaseless sensations. He almost doesn’t even notice that the tendril around his cock is still moving, because with each impossibly deep thrust, the tendril inside of him gets just a little bigger, until it’s stretching him wide and it feels like he’s filled to the brim.

“Ah— Mik—leo!” Sorey cries out, writhing wildly as the pace of the tendril pumping in and out of him quickens, rubbing over his sensitive insides in all the right ways, stretching the velvety walls with its coldness that doesn’t seem to go away, no matter how long the tendril stays inside of him.

“Enjoying yourself? Good,” Mikleo says, not waiting for an answer. Sorey’s expression is all the answer he needs. The boy moves along with the tendrils, sweat clinging to his skin and hair disheveled. He looks absolutely delectable.

Deciding to push Sorey even further, Mikleo wills one of the tendrils to split again. A tiny one, no bigger than a stem of a dandelion splits from the one around Sorey’s cock to thumb at the tip. Sorey doesn’t understand what it’s doing until it rubs over the dripping opening of his cock and slithers inside, just as painlessly as the one already inside of him had before.

He screams, voice breaking as his body gets wracked with a shiver, hair standing on end. Tingles blossom in his nerves, followed by a rush of pleasure that wipes everything from his mind, leaving him seeing white.

“Mikleo!!”

Mikleo feels a pang of pride in his chest, uncrossing his legs again, trying to find a good position. Then he decides, why should he? “Hey, Sorey? Are you enjoying yourself?”

Mikleo’s voice pulls Sorey’s attention, though it’s probably more because the tendrils stop moving, lodged snugly deep within him. The one inside his ass is swelled so much that it’s constantly pressing against his prostate, the tip reaching so deep there’s a visible bulge on his abdomen. It’s more prominent when he breathes out, chest rising and falling frantically.

It obviously takes him a moment to understand that Mikleo is waiting for an answer. When it does, Sorey opens his mouth to answer, only to find his voice gone, throat too dry. He takes an extra moment to swallow a few times before he can formulate any words. “Why’d you— stop…?”

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” Mikleo says, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah,” tumbles from Sorey’s lips immediately, “At least— I was.”

“You sure looked like it.” Even still, there’s a line of spittle running down the ex-shepard’s chin, the glossy sheen still present in his eyes, making them a darker green than usual. “I’m feeling a little left out, you know…?” Sorey’s eyes stray down to the very obvious bulge in Mikleo’s pants and he licks his lips with obvious hunger. Mikleo smiles to himself. “You don’t mind helping me out, do you?”

Sorey finds himself nodding without thinking. Mikleo motions the tendrils to bring Sorey closer. The boy ends up on the floor, knees hitting the red carpet softly. The tendrils don’t let go of him, though, keeping just as tight a hold on him as ever.

Mikleo pulls his pants down, sighing out as the strain of the fabric disappears, his arousal bobbing in front of Sorey’s face, green eyes following it and the bead of precum gathered at the top.

“Careful of your teeth, okay?” Mikleo mutters, though he isn’t very concerned at this point. They’d done this enough times that Sorey just obediently opens his mouth, leaning forward to run his tongue over the hard flesh. Mikleo shivers, looking down and catching Sorey’s eyes, looking back up at him through a flutter of long lashes.

Mikleo decides that Sorey is far gone already, so he has no qualms about weaving his hand through his hair, gripping the short strands loosely as Sorey starts swallowing the head of his cock. Just as the water tendrils, even Mikleo’s skin is still cold, like a glass of water. Sorey’s sharp teeth barely touch the skin, just a tiny warning of what he’s capable of, even if he’d never use it on Mikleo. The seraph moans lowly.

“Great job, Sorey,” he mutters, only half aware of it as Sorey’s tongue runs over the crown of his cock, lapping up the precum and swallowing, sending even more spikes of pleasure through Mikleo.

Mikleo rewards him by making the tendrils move again, reveling in the moan Sorey lets out around him. The tendril pressed inside Sorey splits into two identical ones, Mikleo concentrating as much as he can to wind them around each other. They pump in and out in tandem, one in while the other pulls out, ensuring Sorey’s sensitive spots get rubbed with each thrust.

The one inside Sorey’s arousal moves in tiny thrusts, rubbing against Sorey’s prostate from the other side, swelling just enough to be visible on the underside of his cock. Sorey bobs his head on Mikleo, taking him as far as he can, lapping at the flesh and leaving kisses along the crown when he pulls away to breathe.

Mikleo feels his orgasm approaching fast, a combination of seeing Sorey so vulnerable and debauched and his arousal being neglected for so long rushing it. He grips at Sorey’s hair a little tighter, biting down at his bottom lip. He pulls Sorey off of himself just enough not to choke him with his cum, enjoying the tiny, kittenish licks as he cums into Sorey’s mouth, the ex-shepard swallowing it all and looking up with a dazed look, a blush high on his cheeks.

Panting harshly, Mikleo finally pulls Sorey off, moving him with the tendrils so he can kiss him, tasting himself on his tongue but not caring.

“Mikleo—” Sorey whimpers when they part, a string of translucent saliva connecting their lips until it snaps into nothingness with Sorey’s laboured breathing. “Please— Please, take it out… I want to come…”

Through the haze of his afterglow, Mikleo looks down at the begging boy, notes the tears collecting on his lashes. The tiny tendril pulls out from within his cock with one last teasing flick, and like a dam broken, Sorey’s cum follows it, ribbons of it shooting out and painting the throne white.

Sorey slumps forward in the tendrils’ hold, boneless and sated. Mikleo carefully pulls the pair of tendrils out of him, mindful not to overwhelm his already overstimulated body. The tendrils pull the brunet up and Mikleo scoops him into his own arms.

The water disperses, falling through the cracks in the floor somewhere into a flowerpot in the lower storey. Sorey stretches up to kiss Mikleo again, eyes falling shut in exhaustion.

“Told you,” Mikleo chuckles, brushing the sweaty bangs out of his face. “Come on, don’t fall asleep yet, I gotta wash you.”

Sorey’s answer is a noncommittal hum, but it only takes a few more seconds before he’s out, leaving Mikleo to carry his lax body to the bathroom with just a sigh.


End file.
